


Point, Set, Match

by killianslonghaul



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14306007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killianslonghaul/pseuds/killianslonghaul
Summary: Clarke Griffin kind of hates football players, and Bellamy Blake is no exception.(Except maybe he is.)High School Volleyball/Football AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is partially based on the fact that I played volleyball and was often bitter about the popularity of football even though I'm also obsessed with it. I was mostly always annoyed that we didn't get at least some of that support. Anyway, I took that and added like 2x more drama, more of which is to come in part 2 (which I think is all this will have, 3 parts max but probably just 2). 
> 
> ANYWAY. Enjoy :)

Clarke Griffin does not hate football players.

She doesn’t necessarily correct people if they assume so, but she doesn’t actually wish them off of the face of the earth or anything. They’re just not her favorite people, parading around the school on Fridays during the fall with their jerseys on, all the students slapping their backs and wishing them luck on the “big game”.  

They grin, all the girls (and some of the guys) fawn over them like they’re gods.

It’s ridiculous.

Football isn’t the only damn sport played during the fall. As a volleyball libero, she hates that they barely fill half a gymnasium on a Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, but the football field winds up packed nearly beyond capacity every weekend. She hates that teachers smile at football players when they have to leave class early for an away game, but glare at her when she does. She hates that they get excused for everything, getting deadline extensions on papers and being able to remake tests that they failed because they were “so busy with football”, but she still does all of her schoolwork on time without ever getting any leeway from anyone.

She hates that her mom has made all of three games in the two years she’s played for Arkadia High’s varsity volleyball team, but manages to go to every single home football game because she has a thing for one of the assistant coaches. Abby says it’s because of her work schedule.

Clarke knows better.

So, no, she doesn’t hate football players. She just hates everything about them.

\------

It’s another home game Friday, and she’s resisting the urge to accidentally stab her black Sharpie into every single aqua jersey that she sees. They lost their match yesterday—a close one that she knows they could have probably pulled off. It was only their sixth of the season, and there are plenty more to play, but it still puts a little more ice in her veins than usual, her glare at the back of guy’s head in front of her particularly hard.

So, when he stops walking suddenly and she crashes into his back, it’s really not her fault that her temper flares.

“Seriously?” she yells as the boy turns, his dark curls flopping just a little against his forehead. She doesn’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been on their team for a while. Not paying attention to football players is her specialty.

His eyes are only amused as he stares down at her, over half a foot taller than she is. “You’re the one who ran into me.”

“Because you stopped walking in the middle of the damn hallway,” she spits, clutching her notebook tightly against her chest.  

He smirks, holding up his hands as if in surrender. “You got me there. Sorry, your highness.”

“That’s not—“ She stops, pressing her lips tightly together for a moment. “Whatever. Just move so I can get to class.”

Something is burning bright in his eyes and she doesn’t like it, averting her own gaze as she huffs, trying to feign annoyance instead of being intimidated. It only makes him grin harder. “Did I do something to you personally? Other than bumping into you? You seem very perturbed.”

She can’t help it, she laughs. “Perturbed? That’s a big word for someone like you.”

Realization flashes in his eyes and even more irritation flares in her chest. He tilts his head. “Ah, you don’t like football players.”

The smile on her face is anything but pleasant. “I don’t like dumb jocks who parade around the school like they own the place and get everything handed to them on silver platters.”

Something shifts in his expression, but it’s gone so quickly she wonders if she imagined it. He crosses his arms over his chest, a challenge in his voice when he speaks. “Do you make it a habit to stereotype everyone you meet?”  

“It’s not stereotyping if it’s true,” she bites back, minutely becoming aware that there are people slowing their steps as they pass by, watching them closely. She’s also aware that she’s being a little extra, but at this point, she’s committed. Backing down now would mean letting him win.

And doesn’t he win enough as it is?   

“This coming from the primped up, blonde haired, blue eyed, rich white girl with diamond studs in her ears and pink lip gloss on who thinks the world owes her something even though she has everything, and thinks that she deserves an apology when she just wasn’t looking where she was going. You could probably call your mommy or daddy and get them to buy one for you, if you wanted.”

She’d done well to keep herself from exploding despite the anger rising in her throat as he spoke. A retort is right on the edge of her tongue, but at the mention of her father, her eyes close of their own volition. She grits her teeth, reopening them slowly. “I don’t... That’s not…”

At her brief hesitation, he gives her a half shrug. “See? Not so fun, is it?” He leans forward, voice low. “So don’t you dare act like you know a damn thing about me, _princess_.”

His eyes are intense and dark, the teasing that had been in his voice near the beginning of their conversation turned into something that seems much more dangerous. She isn’t scared of him, necessarily, but she definitely is starting to wish that she had just let it go. Any other day, she probably would have.

“Yeah, well. I’m glad I don’t,” she manages to say, shoving his shoulder in an attempt to get past him quickly.

Aware that if he hadn’t wanted to move, he wouldn’t have, she slips around him relatively easily, ignoring the eyes she can feel on the back of her head as she continues down the hall.

She doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

\------

“Nice dig on that last play, Clarke.” Octavia grins as she smacks lightly at Clarke’s butt, her long braid swinging over her shoulder as she grabs her water bottle. Clarke smiles her thanks, barely paying attention to what the coach is saying. They’re up by nine in the third set—only three points away from winning the match. She isn’t worried.

Instead, she sits down next to Octavia and takes a sip from her Gatorade.

Octavia had just moved here at the beginning of the fall— a tall, built brunette with a killer serve and an uncanny ability to block. She’d tried out as soon as she moved and she’d gotten a spot on their eleven person team, and within two weeks she was officially getting subbed in as a second middle blocker. Clarke has a feeling that soon enough, Octavia will be starting permanently, but she keeps that to herself.

“So, how do you like it here so far?” she asks, watching the timer for their timeout ticking down.

“It’s good,” Octavia says, giving a little shrug. “I didn’t think I’d get any playing time this soon so the fact that I’m getting switched in at middle every now and then is nice.”

“Good, I’m glad it’s treating you well,” Clarke tells her. “We’re glad to have you on the team.”

The girl’s smile is small, but her happiness shines through it. “Thanks.”

Their buzzer sounds and the two girls stand again, sticking their hands into the huddle and giving a quick “Go Hawks” with their teammates before heading back out to the court.

Five minutes later, they’re slapping the hands of the other team from under the net, the mantra of “good game” falling from their lips over and over until the end of the line.

“Nice game, girls,” the coach says, smile big. “A great comeback from the St. Christian game the other day. But, I still want you here at 8:30 on Saturday morning. We need to squeeze in a few extra practices before our match with Eden Academy next week.”

There are a few groans, but they all nod and then start to head their separate ways. Clarke is tucking her kneepads into her gym bag when she looks up and sees the football player that had bumped into her the week before.

Sitting in the bleachers.

When he sees her, recognition flashes on his features before he smirks and stands, making his way down the steps toward her. The exhilaration of their win fades quickly as he jumps over the last two steps, coming to stand in front of her.

“Princess. You play volleyball.”

“Don’t call me that.” She slings her gym bag over her shoulder and then crosses her arms over her chest. “And what’s it to you?”  

He tilts his head as if he’s assessing her, smirk deepening. “Well, now your crazy outburst makes sense.”

The way he says it, like this one fact has suddenly told him all he needs to know about her, makes her blood boil.

“What are you even doing h—“

“Bell!”

Octavia is there suddenly, throwing her arms around the boy in front of her. Her smile is wide. “You made it.”

“I told you I would, O.” He smiles, hugging her back.

Clarke finds herself staring at him without meaning to, because the smirk and tough demeanor have slipped away, replaced by an unmistakable fondness as he looks at Octavia. His eyes have softened, his smile is genuine. It throws her so much that she knows she must look shell shocked, mouth hanging open just a little.

She’s about to ask if this is Octavia’s boyfriend, but then suddenly, it clicks into place.

Octavia has mentioned a brother a few times.

“You’re Bellamy,” she says, now running through all the nice things that Octavia has said about him and trying to place them to the boy who’d argued with her in a hallway full of people.

“Clever, this one,” Bellamy says, lips tipped into a smirk again as the teasing glint returns to his gaze.

“Don’t be a jerk, Bell.”  Octavia smacks his arm lightly. She turns to Clarke. “I didn’t realize you two had met.”

Clarke scoffs, sarcasm dripping from her tone when she speaks. “Oh yeah, we have. Very pleasant experience.”

Octavia’s eyes widen just a little and she looks back at Bellamy, brows furrowing. “What did you do?”

“How do you know I did something?” he asks on a frown, taking a step back defensively.

“Because Clarke is literally the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“She called me a dumb jock.” Bellamy crosses his arms, eyes flicking to her for only a moment. “All I did was accidentally make her bump into me in the hallway.”

Octavia studies him for a moment, then shakes her head on a light chuckle. “Well, other than your whole obsession with history and latin, that’s kind of true.”

Now, he rolls his eyes, relaxing a bit as he flicks at her ear. “Whatever, O. What do you want for dinner?”

The question makes Clarke remember that her mom will probably be working late today, like every time Clarke has a game, and that she’s going home to an empty house. She thinks there’s a pizza in the freezer that she can cook in the oven, or she can just make a sandwich or something. Octavia is speaking, but Clarke pipes up before Bellamy can respond.

“I guess I’ll see you guys later,” she says, reluctantly giving Bellamy a smile. “Nice to officially meet you, Bellamy. Sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”

She tries to make the sentiment as sincere as possible, and his eyes widen just a fraction in surprise, so she figures she did okay. She doesn’t necessarily want to hate him, after all. If the way Octavia talks about him is any indication, Bellamy is practically the girl’s parent, and was even before their mom passed away last year. If Octavia loves him as much as she does, she figures he can’t be that bad.

After a moment, he recovers and offers a small smile. “Yeah, you too.”

She turns to leave, but Octavia’s voice stops her. “Your mom working tonight?”

Clarke feels a strange twist in her gut. She’d mentioned to Octavia that her father had passed away when she was younger, that her mom works at a hospital more often than she’s home. It had been what she’d returned when Octavia had told Clarke about her mom dying. She hadn’t imagined Octavia would hold onto that information, certainly never thought she would bring it up in front of someone.

Still, she turns back around, clutching tightly to the strap of her bag. The gym is nearly empty now, only a few players and their families lingering. She nods. “Yeah.”

Octavia glances up at Bellamy for a second, who seems to be deep in thought. His brows are furrowed and he had been staring at a spot on the gym floor until Octavia looked at him. They stare at each other for a moment and then Octavia turns back to Clarke. “So come have dinner with us. We’re ordering pizza.”

The gesture makes Clarke’s heart tug, but she hesitates. “It’s fine, I don’t want to intrude.”

Surprisingly, it’s Bellamy that speaks up, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s no big deal, really.”

She considers it for a moment, shifting a little on her feet. They seem genuine, and she really should have more friends, or at least, should spend more time with them. In the end, though, her stomach twists and she shakes her head.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have some homework I need to work on. Plus, I think there’s some steak left over from when my mom went to dinner with a friend the other night. I’ll just steal that.”

It sounds too formal, and she fights back a wince. It’s also a lie, but they don’t have to know that.

“You sure?” Octavia asks, taking one step toward her almost as if by reflex.

Clarke nods, forcing the corners of her mouth up. “Absolutely. I’ll see you Saturday, okay?”

She still seems a little hesitant, but Octavia smiles. “Bright and early.”

So, Clarke goes home and microwaves a macaroni and cheese cup, eating it tucked into their recliner while That 70’s Show plays on the TV. The house is otherwise dark and empty, and once, she wishes she had eaten with Octavia and Bellamy.

Once she’s finished, she tosses the cup into the trash and curls herself into her comforter on her bed falling into a restless sleep. She dreams of her dad and the way he’d taught her to hold her arms to pass a volleyball when she was a kid, the way to smack her palm against it for the perfect serve, the keys to executing the perfect set, high and just off of the net. Then, she dreams of tires screeching and glass breaking, of bright headlights and bending metal, of a ten year old crying for her dad, only for him to never respond.

And then he disappears, and there’s only darkness until she opens her eyes the next morning.

\------

Clarke glances down at her phone again, just in case she missed a call or text from her mom.

She didn’t.

So, she sighs, staring out at the rain pouring a few feet in front of her and starts running through her options in her head. She could try to wait out the rain and then walk—it takes about an hour to walk home from school if she keeps a good pace. There are a few people she might be able to ask for a ride, but she’d hate to bother them because most of them have already left school for the day.

Moisture stings at her eyes and she rubs at it, telling herself it’s just some leftover sweat from practice causing the sensation. It isn’t disappointment in her mother for never seeming to be around. Her knee pads are still pushed down around her ankles and starting to itch, so she tugs them over her shoes and shoves them in her bag, glaring at the rain and willing it to stop.

About the time she’s tempted to text Wells and see if he could come back to take her home, the football team rounds the corner of the breezeway. They’re all wet from the rain, coming from the practice field at the back of the school. Bellamy spots her and then his eyes scan the area around her as he walks toward her, waving at the team over his shoulder as they head out into the rain toward the parking lot.

“Octavia rode home with another girl on the team to work on a project. I think the friend is giving her a ride home, too.”

“Ah.” He nods, eyes flicking around at the nearly empty parking lot. “What about you? How are you getting home?”

She glances out at the road. “Well, my car is in the shop for a few days so my mom was supposed to pick me up after practice.”

The bitterness in her voice is obvious, and she looks down at the ground, taking a deep breath. She will not cry. Not in front of him.

Bellamy hums. “Got it. You want a ride home?”

She scoffs before she’s even processed the response. “No thanks.”

“Come on. Last time we talked it seemed like you might actually try to get along with me. I certainly put forth some effort.”

“Begrudgingly inviting me to dinner once doesn’t take away the things that you said,” she says on a sigh, rubbing at her eyes. She’s too tired for this, too sleep deprived to argue with him.

“What about the things that you said?” he challenges, looking suddenly incredulous. His feet shift one step away from her.

She shrugs, looking away from him and kicking at a rock near her feet. “I wasn’t in the best mood that day. And I said I was sorry for that.”

A tense silence falls; the only sound is that of the rain hitting the tin roof above the breezeway. She isn’t brave enough to look back up at him, too scared of what she might find. “Was that why you didn’t eat with us? Because of me? Because you can hate me all you want to, but Octavia really likes you and you shouldn’t take that out on her.”

It’s a nice reminder that all things considered, he does love his sister. She shakes her head. “That’s not why I didn’t eat with you.”

“So why didn’t you?”

She opens her mouth but then realizes she doesn’t have a good answer, and she can’t think of a lie, either. She winds up shrugging her shoulders again, weakly. “I just wasn’t feeling up to it, I guess.”

Another pause lingers, and she can feel his eyes assessing her. He sighs. “Look—“

The tone reminds her too much of how everyone had coddled her when her dad died, and she cuts him off. “Bellamy, I don’t need you taking pity on me or trying to get along with me for Octavia’s sake. I like her, regardless of whether you and I get along. Don’t worry about it.”

From the corner of her gaze, she sees him roll his eyes. “I was just offering you a ride because you look like you need one.”

She shifts her eyes, staring out again at the dark clouds, the rain that hasn’t showed any signs of stopping. “Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry about it. I’m fine.”

His answering huff is louder than the storm. “Clarke. It’s pouring and the only people still here are me and teachers. Let me give you a ride. I won’t say a word the entire time if that’s what you want, but just… let me take you home before you wind up with pneumonia. The team sucks enough without losing one of their best players.”

She tilts her head, assessing him closely and fighting back a smirk. “Was that a compliment?”

“It was whatever you want it to be. Now, are you coming or not?”   

A moment passes while he just looks at her, and eventually, she caves, standing and walking over to him. “Fine. But only because you’re my only viable option.”  

He nods, ducking his head and starting to run towards his car. She follows, feeling grateful despite herself as soon as she’s inside his vehicle with the heater on.

She tells him where she lives, and they’re five minutes down the road before he speaks, voice softer than she’s ever heard it. “Octavia… Octavia told me that your dad died a few years ago, and that your mom kind of sucks. I never should have said what I said in the first place, but… I definitely wouldn’t have said it if I knew that. I’m… I’m sorry.”

The gentleness in his tone almost makes her look at him, but tears prick her vision and she turns her head even further away from him instead. After taking a second to make sure her voice won’t tremble, she replies, “If I had known you were the brother Octavia talks so highly about, I probably wouldn’t have said what I said either.”

She sees him nod through the reflection in the window, hears his small chuckle. “She probably talks a little higher of me than I deserve.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” she says, unable to stop her grin. He rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch. “It’s sweet though, I guess. I don’t have any siblings.”

“Yeah, well, I got pretty lucky in that department.” He pulls up to her house, parking by the curb, and she looks out the window to see her mom’s car parked in the driveway.

“Cool.” Her voice drips with distaste, her mood dropping instantly. She hesitates with her hand on the door handle of the car. Sighing, she turns back to Bellamy. “Thanks for the ride.”

He gives her a half smile. “Thanks for accepting it. Octavia would have never forgiven me if she’d found out I let you sit out in the rain for longer than you had to.”

Clarke returns the expression. “Probably not. I’ll… uh, see you later.”

She gets out before she can talk herself out of doing so, already not looking forward to walking inside her own home. Bellamy’s car pulls away and she stops at her door, taking a moment before she opens it.

Part of her wants to ask her mom what her problem is, but she’s tired and still feels a little wet and sticky between sweat and rain water, so she just goes straight to her room for a shower. She can hear a male voice downstairs, and she figures it’s Marcus, the assistant offensive coach for the football team that her mom has a thing for.

She probably didn’t even notice that Clarke was home.

\------

“It won’t be much, but I have some board games and a bunch of romantic comedies on DVD. My aunt even said she’d stay in her room the whole time and not even bother us. She wants me to make friends so bad.”

“What about your brother?” Clarke finds herself asking, wondering what it would be like to spend an entire night at Octavia’s with her brother hanging around. They’ve rarely had any interactions since he’d driven her home a few weeks before, but the ones they have had were civil, maybe even borderline friendly.

He’s not so bad, she figures, and even though it takes a lot of mental effort, she’s trying not to lump him in with other football players. She’s pretty sure he’s different than most of them.

Kind of.

Octavia shrugs. “He probably won’t be around too much, honestly. We’ll sleep on the floor in the living room most likely. Oh, and my aunt said she would order pizza.”

“What kind?” Maya asks, leaning over on her knee pads from where she sits on the gym floor.

Clarke watches as Octavia turns a little pink, like the question makes her nervous. While she’s never been a new girl at a school, Clarke can imagine trying to make friends is nerve wracking. Before Octavia can make the silence any longer, Clarke plops down beside her and wraps an arm over her shoulders. “I don’t know about you guys, but my vote’s on Domino’s.”

A few people voice their agreement, and then Charlotte starts talking about how she likes Pizza Hut better, but Octavia turns to her and smiles, her gratefulness obvious.

The slumber party itself goes about like one in a coming of age girl movie—they sing some karaoke, play some board games, watch a few movies, and eat way too much pizza and sweets. It’s nice, a distraction from the thoughts that would be plaguing her mind nonstop otherwise. Half of the girls have fallen asleep when Clarke walks down the hall absently around one in the morning, still wide awake. She’s looking at the pictures on the wall, most of them of people that she doesn’t recognize. Halfway down the wall, though, there’s a picture of two freckled kids—a boy and a girl—both with dark hair. Their arms are wrapped around each other and their smiles are huge. There’s a small swing set in the background with a bright yellow slide, the woods heavy just behind that.

A door opens to her right and Bellamy nearly runs into her as he comes out of his room. She takes a step back and looks up at him, brow raised. “You’re not going to make this a habit, are you?”

The surprise on his face slowly melts into amusement. The corners of his mouth twitch and then it turns into a smirk as he blinks, really focusing on her. “Only if you keep putting yourself in my way, princess.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiled before she’s thought twice about it. “Whatever.”

Instead of continuing down the hall like she expected, he leans against the wall, eyes flicking down the hall toward the living room before returning to hers. His hair is a mess, like he was asleep, but wherever he was going when he left his room seems to have lost importance. “You guys having fun?”

Clarke can see that he’s genuinely asking, and she nods. “Yeah. A lot of them have fallen asleep.”

He tilts his head, his eyes uncharacteristically soft, his voice even more so when he says, “Not you.”

“I… I don’t really sleep well this time of year.” She isn’t sure why she says it, has no idea that she was going to until the words have already left her lips. It shocks her, and it must shock him, too, because his brow arches a little, his eyes widening.  

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, like he’s trying to assure she doesn’t get defensive, that she doesn’t take whatever he says as an attack of some kind. “Can I ask why?”

She doesn’t really talk about this to anyone, ever, so she has every intention of shrugging it off, of not telling this boy that she barely knows about the nightmares that keep her up at night every year when it starts getting colder. But his expression is so open, such a contrast to the person that she first bumped into a few weeks ago. Plus, she’s tired—every inch of her feels like it’s poised on the edge of exploding with everything pent up inside of her.

 So, she finds herself speaking before she’s even thought it through.

“It’s coming up on the… the anniversary of my dad dying… Six years this year.” She thinks of him and Octavia, how their mom died just last spring, and she stammers. “I know it’s been a long time and everything, but—“

“It’s still important, Clarke. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been.”

She nods a little, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth for a second. “We were going to get ice cream later on a Friday night. There was this place down the road that stayed open til eleven most nights. I remember my mom told us we were crazy because it was so cold, but we still wanted ice cream. A…” She hesitates, unsure for a moment of what to call the person who ruined her life. “A drunk driver ran a red light. My dad was… pronounced at the scene.”

“What about you?”

A sad smile pulls up the corners of her mouth. “Just some scratches and bruises. I rode in an ambulance to the hospital because they thought I might have a concussion, but… I was just in shock. I kept asking where my dad was, where they took him. I didn’t know until… until later, when my mom told me what had happened.”

Tears have started to slip down her cheeks and she reaches up to wipe them away with the back of her hand, startling just a little when she feels Bellamy’s fingers at her elbow. His touch is gentle, just enough for her to feel it. She takes a shaky breath, giving him a small shrug of her shoulders. “So anyway, every year about this time… I get nightmares really bad. Of the crash and… of him, growing up and then being gone. No matter what I do, they always come. I don’t know how to stop them.”

She meets his eyes, and instead of seeing pity like she was expecting, she only sees softness there. “Thank you, for telling me.”

She hears what he doesn’t say—he recognizes that this isn’t something she talks about. He somehow understands that the nightmares have haunted her silently for nearly six years. But now, she’s told someone, and speaking the words has drained every last bit of her energy. The tears start coming quicker, faster than she can keep up with, and she can’t get them to stop.

Bellamy tugs a little using his grip at her elbow, and she finds herself tucked under his chin, wrapped in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

She should pull away. This is giving him too much, letting him in too far.

But his embrace is warm and his hand is gentle when it cups the back of her neck, and so she lets herself relax against him for just a minute, resting her head over his heartbeat. It’s only a moment, and then she pulls away, her arms falling limply back to her sides. She gives him the best smile she can manage. “Sorry, I don’t usually… do that.”

The smile that pulls up his features, however, is genuine and reaches his eyes. “Well any time you need to… I’m around.”

She nods, and a silence falls between them. It isn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but the reality of what she’s done starts to settle in her stomach and she can feel her cheeks warming. He’s still watching her, open and there if she really needed him.

But she’s already gone too far.

“Um,” she starts, shifting a little on her feet. “Why… why were you leaving your room? Were you going somewhere?”

He seems taken back by her question, shaking his head and pushing himself off the wall. “Oh, yeah. Uh… I guess I’ll… Goodnight.”

She watches while he slips into the bathroom, staring at the door for a minute before heading back toward where the other girls are. When she settles back onto her sleeping bag, Octavia looks back at her, brow furrowed.

“Where did you go?”

“Just to the bathroom,” Clarke lies easily, her heart still tugging a little in her chest. Octavia turns back to the TV, and Clarke stares at the screen blankly, trying to figure out how the hell she’s letting a football player, of all people, get so far under her skin.

\------

“Bringing stragglers home with you again, O?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, slipping into the back seat and shooting Bellamy a glare. “Well, she has one for a brother, so.”

He grins at her annoyance, wide and obnoxious. “How was practice?”

“Good,” Octavia says, narrowing her eyes a little as if she’s trying to decipher whether their comments were genuine or not. “You’re still coming to the match tomorrow, right?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Octavia’s smile is bright, and as Bellamy pulls out of the parking lot, she props her feet up on the dashboard, slipping her phone out of her pocket. Her brother gives her a playful glare, and then his eyes meet Clarke’s in the rearview mirror, and she can see the smirk in his eyes.

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he laughs.

It’s the way they function most days now. He doesn’t really mention her moment of weakness at Octavia’s party, and she doesn’t bring it up, either. Instead, they bicker at each other without ever actually being mean. It’s working for them, and Clarke doesn’t really mind it—they can keep this up without her ever actually liking him.

Which she doesn’t. 

\------

It takes them less time than they were expecting to get to a good stopping point for their project, considering it isn’t due for another week. They wind up popping a bag of popcorn and lounging out on the couch, watching a movie. That’s where they are when Bellamy gets back from picking up their aunt from work, and he arches a brow at them.

“You guys seem like you’re doing great work.”

“Like you’d know what that looks like,” Clarke snips, raising her own eyebrow in response.

Bellamy’s smirk deepens. “And here I thought we were past that.”

Clarke laughs. “I’ve been over here at least once a week for the past month and I’ve never seen you even pick up a pencil.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Can’t argue with that logic.”

“That tends to be the point of logic,” she says, already turning her attention back to the TV.

“You guys are weird,” Octavia pipes up, and Clarke can feel her eyes flicking between the two of them. “Do you get along or not?”

“Not,” they say simultaneously, and Clarke feels a thrill race through her veins when he grins at her. She’s also pretty sure he tosses a wink in her direction before heading into the kitchen, but it was out of the corner of her eye, so she could have been mistaken.

(It doesn’t matter, either way.)

Once he’s gone, Octavia turns to her. “Do you like, like my brother?”

Clarke scoffs. “No, Octavia. I barely stand him.”

“You guys bicker like a married couple.”

 “Not all married couples actually like each other.”

Octavia is silent for a long moment, and Clarke suddenly feels nervous, like she’s being scrutinized for something. “As long as you’re sure. But, just for the record, I wouldn’t mind if you were.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Clarke says dryly, laughing at something on the TV to try to get Octavia’s attention back on it. It doesn’t seem like it’ll work, but then Clarke’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out to see that her mom is calling.

She hesitates, but just as the call is probably about to go to voicemail, she accepts it. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Her mother’s voice is sharp.

“At a friend’s,” she says, standing and walking away. Octavia doesn’t need to be in hearing distance if her mom starts on one of her rants.

“You didn’t tell me you were going anywhere after school.”

“I didn’t know I had to, as long as I’m home by curfew.”

“I’m your mother. I would like to know where you are, particularly when you don’t come home after school.” She can hear the tension in her mother’s voice, and irritation races through her veins.

“Since when do you care where I am?” she snaps before she’s even really thought about it, staring out the window of Octavia’s bedroom as someone comes by walking a dog. “What, is Marcus busy today so you have nothing better to do than actually worry about me?”

“Clarke.” Her mother’s tone is one of warning, but it does nothing but increase Clarke’s annoyance.  

“Or do you only remember to care about me when October rolls around?”

“Clarke Abigail Griffin, stop being dramatic. I know sometimes I’m at work and I don’t know when you get home, but I’d like to believe you get home at a decent hour. So, when I am home on an afternoon, I get concerned when you’re not home by the time I think you should be.”

“I’m working on school work with a girl from the team. I will be home by my curfew, promise.” She sighs, waiting as there’s a pause on the other end of the line.   

Eventually, she hears a deep exhale. “Fine, but next time tell me that you won’t be home after school, at least.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hangs up and plops into the Octavia’s desk chair, putting her head in her hands. Tears prick at her vision because it’s stupid, really, how much her mom pretends to care about her wellbeing when this time of year comes, how any other time she doesn’t seem to care at all.

She’s in the middle of taking deep breaths and trying to calm herself down when she hears a voice approaching.

“Hey, princess, dinner’s almost rea—“

Bellamy’s voice cuts off just as she sees his feet cross the threshold of Octavia’s room, and she nods, wiping at a stray tear that had slipped down her cheek. “Yeah, on my way.”

“Hey, hey.” His voice shifts quickly, becoming softer and gentler. He takes a few steps toward her. “What’s up? What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, rubbing the moisture away from the corners of her eyes. “No, it’s fine. Just a little… spat with my mom. She gets a little crazy this time of year about where I am. You know, even though the rest of the year she barely even recognizes I exist.”

Her voice trembles and she stops, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek. Almost immediately, she recognizes the coppery taste of blood in her mouth and sighs.

Bellamy sits down on Octavia’s desk beside her, all of his actions slow, like she’s a wild animal and he isn’t sure what to expect. “Because of your dad.”

It isn’t a question, but she still nods. “Yeah. I guess it makes sense. She lost him, too, and she almost lost me. I just wish she cared more all the time, you know?”

His hand is warm when it squeezes her shoulder, thumb brushing gently back and forth near her collarbone. “Yeah, that makes sense that you feel that way. It isn’t fair to you for her to do that.”

Her heart is beating quickly, but her anger is shifting into something more sad, more aching. Her chest constricts and she has to swallow a sob before she speaks again, the words cascading past her lips like a dam bursting.

“You know I would give anything for my mom to come to one of our games? She’s always busy for them, but she never misses a football game, not a single one.” She huffs, wiping again at the moisture on her cheeks. It’s useless at this point, but she just wants something to do with her restless hands.

“That why you hate me so much?” He’s teasing, mostly, but there’s something careful about his tone that makes her realize he’s actually asking, too.

She takes a breath, thankful when the tears seem to have finally stopped. “I don’t hate you, but it’s part of the reason that football players aren’t my favorite group of people.”

He nods, lips twitching just a little before he frowns. “Part?”

For a moment, she considers telling him the rest, telling him what really makes her glare every time she hears them in the halls, every time one of them brags about something they’ve done. Instead, she just shrugs. “Yeah, part.”

Bellamy hesitates, and for a moment, she thinks maybe he’ll push for her for more information. But then he doesn’t. “Okay, that’s okay. I’m… I’m glad I seem to be an exception.”  

“You are, it’s stupid really. I’m very upset about it.” She cuts her eyes up at him only because she knows he’s grinning, eyes bright as his smile overtakes his features.

“Yeah, well, you’re not so bad either, princess,” he replies, and even though the teasing nature is still there, she can feel his sincerity just as much as she can feel her own.

She tilts her head up, looking at him for a moment as his expression sobers a bit, while he waits to see if there’s anything else she’ll tell him, let him help her with, and she’s overwhelmed with the realization that he would do or be whatever she needs. She thinks that she’ll still feel like she’s done something wrong, opening up to him yet again, but the feeling is nowhere to be found. It’s only gratefulness that she finds, and maybe even something else, stirring in her chest as his eyes watch hers, expression gentle, thumb still rubbing circles into her shoulder. She sighs. “Sorry, I keep doing this to you.”

“I don’t mind,” Bellamy says, hand stilling but not moving from where it is. She takes another moment, happy with the warmth. “I’m sorry, about your mom. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Thanks.” Slowly, she reaches up and covers his hand with hers, gripping it for a moment. “Um, this is good.”

“Good,” he says, his thumb brushing against her own. “You want some food?”

She grins, just a little, letting him go and clearing the final bit of moisture from her eyelashes and cheeks as she stands. “Depends, what is it?”

“Lasagna.”

“Did you help make it?” she asks, brow arched.

His head tilts at her. “What if I did?”

“Just deciphering the odds that mine will be poisoned,” she answers, trying to keep a straight face but failing. She bites her lip to try to reign in her smile.

Bellamy rolls his eyes, hopping off of Octavia’s desk. Still, his smirk is deep when he looks back at her. “Guess you’ll have to eat it to find out.”

\------

Her dad reaches for her hand and she reaches, too, stretching her arm and trying to find his palm. No matter how hard she reaches, no matter how hard she tries, she can’t find his warmth, can’t even brush his fingers. And then there’s nothing, just black and darkness that swallows her up as she calls for him.

But she knows he’s gone.

Clarke wakes up, sweat matting her hair to her neck. She sighs, taking deep breaths and trying to keep herself from hyperventilating. Octavia is fast asleep beside her, blissfully unaware, but she knows that sleep won’t find her again for a while.

So, she slips easily out of Octavia’s bed and heads to the kitchen, filling up a glass with water and gulping it down. She stands underneath the fan and tries to cool off. It takes a moment for her senses to catch up, for reality to really return to her, but when it does, she realizes that there is light coming from the living room, flashing. She recognizes it as light coming from the TV, and she quietly slips through the doorway, only to find Bellamy lounged on the couch, awake but definitely drowsy.

He seems to sense her presence because he looks up, eyes meeting hers in the dark. “Clarke? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Instead of answering, she asks, “Shouldn’t you? You’re going to the tournament with us.”

“But you’re actually playing,” he retorts, the ghost of a grin lifting his features.

She shrugs, not having an argument for that one. “Had a nightmare. It’ll probably be a little while before I can go back to sleep.”

There’s a pause as he looks at her, but it’s only a moment before he’s shifting into a slightly more upright position, clearing up space on the other side of him. “In that case, you’re more than welcome to join me.”

She does, sitting next to him and curling her feet underneath her. Her feet brush against his knee and he inhales sharply.

“Your feet are freezing,” he tells her, and she smiles.

“Then you won’t mind warming them up,” she says, tucking her toes even more against his thighs and fighting back a giggle as he huffs.

But he doesn’t push her away.

She watches the TV absently, something on the history channel of course. After a minute though, she turns toward him just a little. “Why are you up?”

His eyes cut toward her and then back to the TV, and she waits as he seems to consider carefully, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “I, uh… I have trouble sleeping, too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Guilt rushes through her, not for the first time, because it’s only been a year and a half since he lost his mother, since his entire life was uprooted and moved to a different place, a different school.

He turns to look at her, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s not too big of a deal, that’s why I never mentioned it.”

She nods, and she’s suddenly struck with how much she wants to help him, how much she wishes she could take his pain away. She isn’t sure what his is, or where it comes from, but she just wants to help, wants to offer him even a fraction of the comfort he’s offered her.

It throws her off because the ache coursing through her veins has nothing to do with her own struggles, but with _his_. It shakes her to her core to realize, at two in the morning on the night before a major tournament in his living room, watching something about Mount Vesuvius and Pompeii, that she doesn’t just not hate him.

She _likes_ him.

“I’m still sorry. Not being able to sleep sucks,” is what she says, and then she’s pulling her feet away, shifting so that she’s leaning against him instead of the arm of the couch. Slowly, she moves to rest her head against his arm. She waits, completely still, unsure of what he’ll do or how he’ll react.

He surprises her, shifting and propping his feet up on the coffee table until he can comfortably rest his head on top of hers. She relaxes, melting into the warmth of him and the comfort of the back of the couch behind her head. When Bellamy speaks, she can feel his breath on her forehead, his lips only millimeters away from her skin.

“Guess we can just be miserable together, huh?”

She hums softly, pressing even further into him. “Is there anything I can do?” she asks, but it feels so insignificant.

The fingers of the arm she’s leaning on brush against her wrist, and she moves it so that he can wrap his hand around her palm. He squeezes once, and then she definitely feels his mouth press against her hair. “This is good, princess. Thank you.”

She closes her eyes, and between the monotonous voice on the TV, the warmth of him surrounding her, and, eventually, the evening out of his breathing, sleep finds her again.

(Really, _really_ good sleep.)


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like the record to show that the legal things included here probably aren't accurate. I'm not sure if something like what is depicted here would actually happen or not. But it's what happens in the story. 
> 
> Sorry for the delay, finals are kicking my butt.

The first thing Bellamy realizes as consciousness returns to his body is that his neck hurts. The second is that the cause of the discomfort is the fact that he is not in his bed, but on the couch.

The third is that there’s a body curled against him on his couch, and that body is Clarke Griffin. A glance over at the clock reveals that it’s just past four in the morning. The girls have to be up at about five-thirty in order to get ready for the tournament a few towns over, that starts at eight.

That leaves at least another hour and a half of sleep that Clarke probably needs, sleep that might be ruined if he wakes her up. So, he shifts slowly, little by little, until he’s comfortably leaning against her again. Clarke stirs, her head moving a little bit on his shoulder, but she doesn’t wake up. He rests his cheek back against her hair, easily drifting off again.

It’s about an hour later that her stirring wakes him up again, and when he opens his eyes, they meet hers. “Guess we fell asleep,” she says, her voice thick and slow. Her hair is sticking up on one side of her head and she’s definitely still tired, still a little haunted, but he can’t help think that she’s still gorgeous, even a little rumpled.

Without thinking about it, he reaches up to smooth a little bit of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. It makes her smile, just a little. “Guess so.”

She gets up and gets ready, Octavia joining her after about twenty minutes. He cooks some eggs and bacon while they do that, trying to shake off the memory of Clarke’s warm form tucked against him. While he doesn’t necessarily have anything against having a crush on his sister’s friend, it’s definitely not the best idea.

Besides, liking her doesn’t mean he _likes_ her.

But when Clarke glances over at him while they’re all eating breakfast, this small smile on her lips, like they have a secret that’s just theirs, he thinks he might already be screwed.

 ------

The girls win their first three matches, which means come noon, they’re still at Polis High. Bellamy takes them to the concession stand that’s set up and gets them a slice of pizza and an apple each, and when Clarke gets pizza sauce on the corner of her lip, it’s all he can do not to reach up and wipe it off himself.

On their way back, she has a hand wrapped around her left wrist, her thumb rubbing firmly into the skin there. She presses a little harder, wincing.

(His heart jumps against his permission.)

“You okay?”

Her eyes find his, and she drops her hands back to her side, shaking them a little.

“Yeah, my wrist just hurts a little. It’s fine, “she rushes to say, probably able to see the concern in his expression. “Just a little sore from playing so much, probably.”

His hesitation is only a split second, and then he reaches out to rub his fingers where hers just were. She lets him hold her wrist and give his own attempt to work out the pain. Her voice is small when she speaks, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear her. “Thank you.”

He smiles at her, his thumb against her pulse point as his eyes meet hers. It sends a small thrill through his veins. “Take some ibuprofen and try to take it easy, okay?”

She cuts her eyes at him then, the most adorable thing he’s probably ever seen. “I’ll do my best.”

He drops her wrist, winking at her and feeling that spark already buzzing in his body race up his spine when she grins.

Yeah, he’s definitely screwed.

\-----

“Thanks for the ride.” Clarke turns back to him once they’re at her door, glancing toward his car, where Octavia is still sound asleep against the passenger side window. “And I know it’s because of Octavia, obviously, but… thanks for coming. It was nice to have someone there.”

Bellamy’s heart lurches in his chest, toward her, wanting to reach out as if there’s even a possibility that it alone could fix everything for her. He tucks his hands in his pockets to try to rein them in, keep them from doing something stupid. Still, he shoots her a smirk and hopes it comes across better than it feels. “It might have been a little bit for you, too.”

The smile that lights up her features almost pulls him closer, almost makes him reach out, almost makes him really think about what it would be like to kiss her. He definitely looks a little too long at her mouth, definitely sways a little closer before he can help himself. She seems to sense the shift, her expression turning serious.

When her own eyes flick to his lips, he breaks. His hand is out of his pocket before he’s even realized it and he’s cupping her cheek before he’s even registered the action, moving forward until their bodies bump, pressing his lips to hers.

Half of him was expecting her to push him away.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she lets him kiss her for a long moment, presses back with the faintest amount of pressure. He feels her fingers brush his hip, her body leaning into his touch.

It takes every ounce of strength in him to pull away. “Fuck,” he mutters, resting his forehead against hers, trying to ground himself from how much the world is suddenly spinning. He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I’m sorry, I just… is that okay?”

He opens his eyes and she’s staring at him, brows furrowed just a little. “I… Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

Now, she smiles, the hand at his waist trailing up his arm and wrapping around his bicep. He grins, too, leaning down for one more lingering kiss. “Okay, good. I’ll see you around?”

Her expression turns more amused. “The odds are probably pretty strong for it.”

Rolling his eyes is easy— his laugh even easier. “Bye, princess.”

He’s able to detach himself from her, shooting her one more smile before heading back to the car. By the time he’s climbed in, she’s already inside her house, but he can still taste her on his lips long after he drives away.

\------

Actively embracing his crush on Clarke Griffin is a lot easier than he was expecting it to be. She, at the very least, doesn’t seem to mind it—when he shoots her a grin as they pass each other in the halls the next day, she smiles back every time, once rolling her eyes when he winks at her.

After school, he sees her in the hallway heading toward the gym for practice, and slides up next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Hi, gorgeous.”

She lets him back her up against the lockers, turning her chin up just enough for him to kiss her when he leans down. He knows she expects it to be quick, but as soon as he’s kissing her, he doesn’t want to stop. A step forward closes any of the leftover space between them, his hips effectively pinning her against the locker. He has just enough of a right mind to not press too hard, lest a locker handle dig too aggressively into her back and hurt her.

Her arms wrap around his waist and the only thing that snaps him out of his daze is a door down the hall slamming closed. Voices follow, and he recognizes some of the other girls from the volleyball team heading in their direction. Capturing her lips once more and squeezing just a little at her side, he pulls away as they round the corner.

Clarke glances at her phone to check the time as the girls pass and slip into the gym. “Still have five minutes.”

His pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, seriously considering her for a long moment. “I should probably go ahead and get to practice, too. There’s a big game this weekend so it’ll probably already run late. I don’t want to make it worse.”

She nods, but then her brow furrows. “Don’t you have a Latin test tomorrow?”

He grimaces. “Yeah, I already asked the teacher for an extension. I think she’s going to let me take it Monday. I told her practice has been running later this week and she said it was okay.”

Something flashes in Clarke’s expression, her eyes darkening. “Have you done that before? Got an extension or a make-up test because of practice or a game?”

His stomach drops a little at her tone, the way she crosses her arms over her torso while she waits for him to answer.

“I—“ He hesitates, unsure of what the right answer is. “Sometimes. I try not to but some circumstances call for it. I know it’s probably not fair, but…“

“Not really.” Her frown is deeper, and when she goes to shift away from him, he reaches for her arm a little desperately.

“It’s not…” He lets go of her arm, not wanting to push too far. “It’s not a big deal. I swear I try to do it as little as possible.”

“But you still do it!” she snaps, yanking her arm out of his grasp. “You still get special treatment just because you play football, and you let it happen. I… I thought…”

She cuts herself off, but he can see the tension in her body, the way she’s not meeting his gaze no matter how hard he tries. “Clarke, it’s…” He trails off, because no matter how he tries to word it in his head, it still sounds bad. His hand twitches toward her, but he pins it to his side.

“Maybe…” Her head bows and she stares at the floor for a long moment. She takes a shaky breath. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“What was?” he asks, even though he knows.

She shakes her head, and calls him out on it. “You know exactly what I mean, Bellamy.”

Before he can say anything else, the gym door is closed and she’s gone. He stands there for a long moment staring at the sign on the door reading “Go Hawks”, wishing he could follow her, beg her to understand.

But he knows he’s probably just proved everything she thought she knew about football players, and that she probably just disregarded every reason that she thought he was different.

\------

His texts go unanswered for two days, and he thinks that she really might try to avoid him completely for the rest of their lives. He’s tried to call her to defend himself, maybe to even tell her the full story of why he’s on the football team, but those attempts go unanswered, too.

On Tuesday, when Octavia climbs into the car frowning at her phone, he waits until they’ve pulled onto the road to ask, “What’s wrong?”

She glances up at him only briefly, biting down on her bottom lip. “I was just… trying to check up on Clarke, but she isn’t responding.”

Hearing her name makes his chest squeeze, but he takes a deep breath to try to steady himself. “Is she okay? Did you not see her at school?”

Octavia sighs, finally pocketing her phone. “No, she skipped. It’s the anniversary of her dad dying.”

His heart lurches, hard. He had figured the day was coming up, but he always assumed she would tell him when it was sometime before it happened, that maybe she would let him be there for her.

With some difficulty, he tells himself that maybe she didn’t think about it, or didn’t want to bother him.

Or maybe she was going to tell him, and then he upset her.  

“We can go over there,” he says after a moment, waiting until they’re stopped at a red light to look over at his sister.

“I…” She hesitates. “I don’t think she would want to see you, you know? Just because of what happened to him.”

The light turns green, and he focuses back on the road. “What do you mean? Didn’t her and her dad get hit by a drunk driver? What does that have to do with me?”

Octavia is silent for a long moment, like she’s really thinking about her response and he hates that he can’t look at her, figure out what’s going on in her head.“Yeah, a drunk driver… who played football, Bell. Who didn’t get punished because they were afraid it would ruin his scholarship to play for Ohio State. The city brushed it under the rug, made him do a few rehab classes, but that’s it.”

It takes a second for her words to process, for everything that he knows to combine with this new information and for him to understand, with abrupt clarity, exactly why she got so angry the other day. He pulls into their driveway and parks, heart hammering in his chest. His voice shakes when he speaks. “I… She didn’t tell me that.”

“Because she kind of likes you, I think.” Octavia hasn’t moved to get out of the car, and he can feel her eyes on him, wary. He closes his eyes, only for a moment, and then turns to look at her. “And I assume she doesn’t know about what happened.”

“No.” He leans his head back against the seat. “Fuck, I need to talk to her.”

Octavia nods, slow. “Okay. Good luck. I’ll see you for dinner?”

He leans over, plants a quick kiss to the side of her head. “Yeah, O. I’ll be home by 7, I promise.”

Satisfied, she grabs her bookbag from the back seat and climbs out, tossing a wave over her shoulder before she walks in the house.

The drive to Clarke’s is quiet, and no matter how many times he tries to think of what to say or how to say it, nothing sounds right. Once he’s parked by her curb, he sits outside for a good ten minutes before he actually gets the courage to climb out of his car and go up to her front door. After he knocks, it takes a long minute and another small rap on the wood before it inches open and he sees her peeking out at him.

His heart shatters. Her hair is gathered up in a knot at the back of her neck, her eyes look tired, she’s in sweatpants, and as soon as she sees him, her entire body tenses. That hurts the most.

“I know you’re mad at me already,” he says quickly, praying she won’t slam the door on him. “But… if you want some company, or someone to cry on, or someone to punch… Whatever you need, I’m here. I… I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

Her eyes scan his face and she shifts her weight to her other foot. He treads carefully, foregoing any speeches he had prepared and just going for the truth.

“Octavia told me what happened, the whole story.” He stays as still as possible, heart breaking in his chest every moment that he stands there and doesn’t hold her. Realization crosses her features, but only briefly before her expression once again turns neutral. “And I get it. I get why you hated me, why you got so mad the other day, why I’m probably the last person you want to see right now… but, Clarke, you know that’s not me. I… You have to know that’s not me.”

Something flashes in her expression, the smallest flicker of something other than the unattached look she’s maintaining so well. He closes his mouth, waiting and hoping, not wanting to push too far. She considers him for a moment that feels much too long, eyes locked with his.

And then she breaks.

Her chin trembles and her arms fall from where they’re crossed across her body. Tears start to pool in her eyes. He’s there in a moment, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest. She clings to him as her body shakes with sobs, her voice broken when she speaks. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no.” He holds her as tight as he can, hand rubbing circles into her back and cupping the back of her neck with the other. “No, I’m sorry. You’re okay, it’s okay, princess.”

It takes a few minutes, but eventually she calms down, takes a breath, and pulls away to look at him. She hesitates, hands slipping down his arms like she’ll pull away, but he catches her hands in his.

“I mean it, I’m here,” he reminds her, squeezing her palms. “What do you need?”

She takes a deep breath, sniffling. “Stay? For a little while?”

“Okay.” Her house is empty when they walk inside, and she sits down on her couch, leaving room for him by the arm. Once he’s sitting down, she curls into him and puts her head on his chest. The Office is playing on the TV, the volume low, just enough to be noise.

He wraps an arm around her shoulder and listens while she talks.

She tells him everything.

She tells him how her dad was the one who taught her to play volleyball when she was little, how her mom always thought it was a waste of time, how her favorite memories were Saturdays outside with an old sand weighted net that they would bump the ball back and forth over. She tells him that on the night everything happened, the football player was drunk and ran a red light, that she remembers looking over at her dad and yelling at him to wake up, how he never did.

She tells him that the guy was set to go to college on full football scholarship, and he never even served any jail time, because having a star college football player from their town was more important than justice for her father’s death. She tells him that her mom started chasing after Coach Kane within one year of her dad dying.

And she tells him how much she hates seeing football players run around the school, getting excused from everything and not caring if it isn’t fair.

“It took a lot not to lump you in with them, because I know you’re not like that,” she says, picking at a string on her sweatpants. She’s shifted away from him while she was talking, just a little, but his arm is still wrapped around her shoulders. “But then you were talking about your exam the other day, and—“

“Sometimes I can be a jerk because it’s easy to when people give you a pass for it,” he says, before she gets too far down that road. “I won’t lie about that. But what that guy did was messed up, and I hope he rots in hell.”

Her inhale is shaky, but she settles back into his chest. “Yeah, me too.”

Silence falls for a long moment, and when he breaks it, he does so as gently as possible.

“So, you know how I moved because my mom died?” She nods a little against his chest. He hesitates, but if he has any hope for something genuine between them, she should know what she’s getting into.  “That’s not the only reason. I… My mom’s death was ruled a suicide, but everyone who was close to her knows that her boyfriend at the time was involved.”

Clarke is still, listening quietly just like he did with her.

“I, uh… I almost got charged with assaulting him two weeks after she died. I saw him in town, and he… he smirked at me, like he knew there was nothing I could do about it. I just... lost it. I was told that the charges wouldn’t be pressed, but only if we definitely moved in with my aunt, and only if I joined an activity that would help me release some of my frustration in a healthy way. Maybe that makes me the same as… as all of them. I mean, I know I could have gotten in more trouble for that, but I didn’t.”

“He hurt your mom. He deserved it. It’s not the same.” Clarke sits up to look at him, and he can see tear stains on her cheeks. She fixes him with a thoughtful expression. “You got forced to join the football team?”

He shrugs, watching her expression carefully. “Essentially.”

Her gaze softens, and then she surprises him with her chuckle, short and gone before it’s even really started. “Maybe you should have told me that sooner. Might have changed things.”

His fingers brush against her shoulder from where they’re still propped on the back of the couch. “I think we turned out okay, all things considered.”

She sobers, but he’s pretty sure he’s not misinterpreting the softness in her eyes, the way she settles back into side with a sigh. “Yeah, we did. I’m sorry I got so mad at you.”

“You probably should do it every once in a while. Keep me in check.”

“Hmm, maybe.” There’s amusement at the edge of her voice, just enough to be noticeable. He can’t help the smile that tugs up the corners of his lips, nor the way his arm tightens around her just a little, almost reflexively. Leaning down, he brushes his lips against her forehead. She tilts her own head up and returns the action at the corner of his mouth, the faintest amount of pressure.

“Thank you, for being here.”

He tucks her back into his side, nestling his head on top of hers. “Any time, princess.”

\------

It’s still almost a week later before he really sees her again, when she shows up one day when practice is almost finished and sits in the bleachers, her knee pads sitting on top of her shoes. She smiles at him and electricity zings through his veins, his heart jumping into overdrive that has nothing to do with the fact that they’re right at the peak of practice.

Any attempts to focus are useless, his eyes casting over to her every chance he gets. When he almost trips over a piece of equipment, she’s definitely laughing when he glances at her. After what feels like ages, the coach dismisses them and he jogs over to where she’s sitting. She doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get up, so he settles himself on the bench beside her, a few feet between them.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, taking a swig from his water bottle.

She nods, slow. “I’m okay. Just… hadn’t seen you in a little bit.”

He grins at her, bumping his knee against hers. “Did you miss me, princess?”

“Maybe.” The way she shifts a little closer to him makes his pulse pick up. Their shoulders brush, tentatively, and then more firmly.

He leans into the press of her against his side for a moment before picking up his arm and placing it on the bench behind her. She immediately uses the space to settle even further against him. A glance toward the field shows that it’s cleared out, everyone gone as soon as they were able to be, and he wraps his arm around her. “Yeah, well, I definitely missed you. I just… didn’t want to push.”

Clarke tilts her head up at him, her smile soft. “I appreciate that, but I’m good now.”

His fingers flex against her arm as he takes a breath. “Also, I figured you should know that I took that Latin test when it was originally scheduled. I don’t… I just don’t want you to ever have any reason to think that I’m…”

She kisses him, quick and light, just enough to stop his speech. “That’s so sweet, but you don’t have to worry about it. I know you, I just… It was really close to that day and… I’m really sorry I freaked out on you.”

“It was warranted.” He pauses, squeezing her shoulder. “I just really, really like you, and I don’t want anything to mess that up if I can help it.”

Her hand against his neck is warm, her lips when they press into his even warmer. He holds on tight, slips his arm down to her waist, kisses her back until he needs to breathe. When he pulls away, he keeps his forehead pressed against hers, brings his hand up to brush his thumb against her jaw.

“I really like you, too, by the way.” Clarke grins. “But you’re really sweaty and kind of smell.”

The laugh that bursts out of his chest surprises him, and her own laugh follows. Despite what she said, she doesn’t move away from him. She just scrunches up her nose when he presses one more kiss to her lips. “You know, you’re not exactly cleaned up yourself.”

Now, she stands, hopping off of the bleacher bench and turning to grin at him over her shoulder. “Yeah, well we practice inside, unlike you animals. I guarantee you, my sweat is not nearly as bad.”

He follows her lead, tugging her into him with his hands on her hips once they’re both on level ground. This kiss is deeper, longer, the kind that makes his blood run even faster and his head spin. Testing the water, he uses his thumbs to lift up the fabric of her shirt and presses them gently into the skin of her waist. When she pulls away, she grins up at him, eyes bright.

“You know,” he says, thumbs tracing circles into her skin. “If you’re that concerned about it, you could always join me for my shower, make sure I clean properly.”

“You wish, buddy.” She rolls her eyes, just a little, plopping one more kiss to his lips before taking his hand and leading them back toward the main building. At his pout, she huffs through a grin. “Maybe next time.”

He catches up with a few long strides, grabbing her hand and lacing their fingers together. “Whenever you want, princess. Door’s always open.”

When they find Octavia waiting underneath the breezeway with a few other members of the volleyball team, she takes one look at their intertwined hands and narrows her eyes even as she grins.

“I knew it.”

(And Bellamy doesn’t say it, but he did, too.)


End file.
